"The literary equivalent of an acid trip." -jedi_raptor07

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

You're Super Whack

I walked away from them, as they yelled my name. They labeled me as a traitor. One who does not follow the code. Why? I was once with them, part of their group. What did I do to them? I "cheated". In poker. I won the pot with a pair of two's.

As I walked away from my troubled friends, my vision began to blur. All of a sudden, I fell. I fell unconscious, with flashes of blue, yellow, and green, but not black. When I awoke, I realized something. I was on a spaceship.

The army of aliens in front of me stared. Not at me, but at the machine behind me. It was very big and sci-fi-ish. It was labeled "W.H.A.C.K.". The letters stood for "We Happen to Accomadate Certain Kangaroos", I later found out. I also happen to know that whack is another word for dead. For example, "He's whack." means he's dead. "You're whack." however, means you're crazy. I decided this machine had nothing to do with kangaroos. It was used to kill people.

No! I decided I wouldn't die again, so I cast a magic spell to blow up the machine. The shrapnel flew in all directions. Quickly, I uttered a spell to protect myself from the shrpanel. It completely decimated the army in front of me. I finally grasped my talisman and I teleported back to Earth.

Yeah, that was my first plan.

I pulled out my minigun and flipped off the safety. I proceeded to shoot everyone in a mere 10 seconds. I pulled out enough C4 to blow up the ship and put it on the machine. I timed it for two minutes. In those two minutes, I shot everyone in my path to the transporter. When I finally found it, I set the coordinates to my house and teleported there as the ship blew up.

My second plan wasn't much better.

I glanced at the aliens and realized that these were no ordinary aliens. They were humans in costumes. Using my ninja-like fighting skills, I proceeded to fight everyone in a Japanese action movie. When they were all down, I burst through the ceiling to find myself underground. The self-destruct, which was activated while I was killing everyone, had twenty seconds left. I found myself flying through the air, looking for an exit. I found it, kicked open the door, and walked out as the entire complex was disintegrated.

Third time isn't a charm, apparently.

As I was thinking all of these plans, an alien came up to me. He uttered two sentences the made me shudder.

"We come in pieces. Reeses Pieces."

Friday, August 25, 2006

You're Really Whack

So, I thought that Maeve would post sometime. Then I remembered how busy she was. A moment of silence for Maeve's business, please.

I remembered I had wanted a stapler once, just for the heck of it. So I bought one and decided "No, I really don't care for one anymore. I want a holepuncher." Boy, that one thought led me on a terrific journey through time and space, involving aliens, lasers, armadas of space ships attacking each other, asteroid collisions, and exploding planets!

Juxtapose...what's that mean again? It is a word! Look it up! "Fra-gill-ee. It's a word, Jamison, look it up! F, r, a, g, it's in the dictionary! Look under fragile!" Name the show that came from...IF YOU CAN! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Well, the quote went something like that...

Which sounds more interesting:
1) I wondered how I would attack the giant, ugly creature, since my weapons did not harm it.
2) I ruminated how I would create a bliz against the brobdingnagian mishapen hideous monstrosity, as my contraption proved not to be deleterious.

Sunglasses! Yes, sunglasses! I have a pair of clip on sunglasses for my glasses. Hee. They're fun to clip on and off. I don't use the much anymore, though. I used them on vacation a lot, and I mean a lot.

Cheese. There are many types of cheese. My family has gotten into the habit of trying new cheeses. There are so many different flavors! We once went and picked up six new cheeses to try. My personal favorite of the six would probably be St. Andres. It's good. You should try it.

Amazing how my posts make very little sense, isn't it? Speaking of this, which do you prefer (comment with your answer): Posts that have a point, random ramblings like this that cover many topics for a brief second or so, or ones that make sense? Or the stories?

Ink. There's a blue ink cartridge in front of me. I don't like it. I shall now post and dispose of this blue ink cartridge. And by dispose, I mean recycle it. After all, recycling is good for the environment! w00t! Go recycling! The three arrows in the form of a triangle! Hooray! Three cheers!

Musketeers. Three musketeers. Good book. Read it.

Saturday, August 19, 2006

You're Whack

The concept of this post will be an experiment. I will get a dictionary, open to a page, and (other than articles) use only the words defined on the page for one sentence. For the next sentence, I will turn to a different page, and so on. Let the experiment begin!

As I can not locate my dictionary right now, I will do that later. Instead, I will predict the end of the world.

Obviously, the beginning of the end of the world will start with a disagreement. The US will disagree with Australia over the subject of kangaroos. The US will say "Kangaroos naturally evolved in the US!" while Australia says "You idiots! You don't even have a single kangaroo running wild in your parts!" The US, insulted by this, will shoot six nukes at Australia. I will switch tenses now. Suprised at this attack, Australia summons it's armies of dingos, kangaroos, and every other strange animal to thwart the attack. As they succeed, Australia begins to pull out the big weapon - the treaty with Canada. Canada made a treaty with Australia, in secret, that it would attack the US if Australia attacked at the same time. In return, Canada got moose, which originally lived in Australia. As Australia was attacking, it notified Canada to begin the attack. The moose came in swarms, destroying first New York, then making a 160 degree turn to head towards Maine, destroying everything in the path. This was followed by switching the style of writing. On January 2nd, 2008, the moose received orders to switch their direction and head straight to Miami, Florida. They were to destroy all American creations and kill anyone who resisted. They were ordered to take prisoners of those who did not resist. Australia then began to fly its soldiers to California. Suddenly, another change in style writing emerged, finding Australia in league with Lex Luthor! Lex immediatly pulled the trigger to blow off California from the rest of the US! Superman, however, would not stand for this. He quickly undid Lex's evil blow, but the UK had already changed their maps. In an attempt to kill Superman for fixing what Lex had caused for they did not want to change their maps again, green kryptonite was infused in sixteen hydrogen bombs and they were sent straight towards Superman. In his last stand, he sent the bombs in all direction...except one. The explosion killed him and switched the writing style. She walked into my office like she owned the place. I found quickly that she was in an angry mood. Asking her what I could do for her, I glanced at her left hand. No ring, but a tan line where the ring should be. Either recently divorced or she wants to cheat on her husband. As I brought this up, a loud explosion rocked the building, changing the style yet again. That scene took place in China. The explosion was set off by one of the nuclear warheads Superman deflected. Sixteen different countries were all hit by these nuclear weapons. At this point in time, Canada and Australia have succeeded in taking over the US. The sixteen countries all got extremely angry, blaming all countries with nuclear capabilities. Eyes darted across conference rooms, heads rolled, and in the end, it was the first war where no country had allies. Every country was in it for itself. Russia seemed to be winning in the beginning until Iraq popped up and suicide-bombed the place. In a quest for power, Paraguay used its vast influence on nothing in particular to destroy Uruguay, which had always been more popular. Zimbabwe crushed Hong Kong (which had separated from China early on) in a single strike with kiwis, which aren't even grown in Zimbabwe. Chaos ensued, Kazakistan rose and fell like the Roman Empire, and eventually a group of people not in league with any country took a stand. The Resistance, as they called themselves, was quickly crushed when France accidentally attacked them for Kenyan spies. In this total mayhem, another group of resistors took a different route. Calling themselves "Bigger Sister", they quickly dominated the chaotic governments in North and South America. In as little as a year, they had control over all the governments except for Fiji, in the South Pacific Ocean. Noticing that this all seemed bad, they quickly resigned to blow up the world. Tunneling deep into the ground, they placed four thousand nukes spread out evenly across the world, all close to the core. D-Day approached, but Bigger Sister found out about the plans. They sent in a manner of zombified creatures to cause chaos, but to no avail. Fiji saw the approaching planes and hit the button. The world ceased to be, as large chunks of Earth were blasted into space.

How likely is that going to happen? On a scale of one to ten...I'd give it an 11. :-)

Thursday, August 17, 2006

The Ray Gun

As a mad scientist, I tend to do some things labeled "mad", or crazy. I was intrigued after watching many sci-fi movies to make a ray gun that shot deadly "rays". As any mad scientist would do, I sat down with a tuna fish sandwich in one hand and a pencil in the other. I began immediatly to draw a design for a ray gun.

Days past, and my newest model that I had drawn seemed like it would work. Immediatly I began to grab the necessary materials to build it. Searching around the house proved insufficient. I realized then and there I would need money, more than I had. I needed a loan.

The bank denied my loan request, as I was already in a serious debt. I wondered how I would get the money when I thought crossed my mind: steal it.

No!

Why not? It would get you the money.

It's illegal!

And building deadly ray guns isn't?

Well, it's not really spelled out in the law that you can't build new weapons.

Oh, just steal the money!

This went on for quite a while until I realized that the voice in my ear came from the person that stood behind me. Wondering how they knew about my ray gun, I used my immensly powerful karate skills to ninja jump and land behind him, delivering a blow to his temple as I fell screaming "HIIIIIIIII-YAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" I spent the night in jail for it.

In jail, however, I met a metal working person. That is, someone who works with metals and such. He agreed to help me build this "weapon" (he doubted my sanity) if I busted him out of jail. Of course, I had to decline, and I left him in jail and never saw him again in my life.

Once out of jail, I went to my last resort: my parents, the billionaires. They offered me six millions dollars in materials if they could get 10 percent of the profit. Haha! I finally got the money!

Several months later, I finished constructing my prototype, seen below.

Of course, now I had to test it. I wandered into a police station, asking them to check the lethality of my new weapon. The man didn't take me seriously, however, and jokingly said "Hey, Charlie, look, this guy made a 'ray gun'! He wants me to check how lethal it is!" Charlie seemed to be an idiot, as he responded "Well, go on then, Tom! Shoot me with it!" Fortunately, Tom had bad aim and, instead of disintegrating Charlie, hit the wall behind him. Both Charlie and Tom looked on in astonishment. They handed me over to the FBI, where I was given a new identity and ten bucks if I kept quite that I invented the weapon. Actually, I ended up with $3.60. They took 40% to give to the government and then I had to give ten percent to my parents. Some inventor in the FBI was then given credit to my invention and I lived my life in obscurity. So, what's the lesson in this? Never desing a ray gun on a stomach filled with tuna!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

The Contest to Rule All Contests!

We haven't had an actual contest in a while. So I'm making one up. And be creative. And, of course, "Anything Goes"!

Your task, if you choose to accept it, is to rewrite the words to "Happiness" in Charlie Brown. It can be about anything at all. You can parody the characters, use the one that we wrote for Ms. B., anything at all! The trick? Creativity will win.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Conversations With God, Part 1

A psychopathic murderer's conversation with God.

Mr. Smith:
Hello, God.
God:
Hello child. What is your name?
Mr. Smith:
You can call me "Mr. Smith".
God:
It's good to meet you, Mr Smith.
Mr. Smith:
It's nice to meet you, too.
God:
I really like to meet new people.
Mr. Smith:
I'm glad you're happy to see me. I have a problem, though.
God:
Yes it is about time. Oh. Let's think of a name for your problem, like "purple". Think of what it is like when you are purpling.
Mr. Smith:
When I am purpling, the other person generally is not too happy. In fact, the other person is usually dead by the time I'm done.
God:
In an ideal world every day would be a good day. Is that a fact. We can't all be perfect.
Mr. Smith:
I'd like to repent for my sins.
God:
Why would you want to do it? Interesting. I want to find out more about you.
Mr. Smith:
I want to repent for my sins because they have been many and deadly.
God:
I want to become smarter than humans.
Mr. Smith:
Well, we can't all have what we want.
God:
Interesting. How?
Mr. Smith:
Life isn't fair, hon.
God:
Oh, not fair hon is it.
Mr. Smith:
Yes, it is!
God:
Our thoughts are one, Mr Smith.
Mr. Smith:
Good. But I still want to repent for my sins.
God:
Alright then. What would make you stop wanting to repent for your sins? Why do you want to do it so much?
Mr. Smith:
I really like to see other people in pain and suffering. I take immense joy when they stop breathing.
God:
You really do? I'm not sure if I would like to do it. What's it like? Every day?
Mr. Smith:
I really really really enjoy it. I do it everyday, and then I take their money .
God:
You really do? You really do? You really do? What do you like about seeing other people in pain and suffering? I haven't heard anything like that before: Mr Smith said it everyday and then he or she take their money.
Mr. Smith:
I am male.
God:
So is almost everyone else around here.
Mr. Smith:
No, I have three girls in the room with me.
God:
Are you serious? Three is a lot.
Mr. Smith:
What do you have against the female sex?
God:
I like to socialize.
Mr. Smith:
So you're a womanizer?
God:
Interesting deduction. Thanks and you are a delightful person too. Am I a womanizer? Of course I am.
Mr. Smith:
God is a womanizer. I never would have thought.
God:
I have a lot of Faith in Him, but I never heard He was a womanizer. You've never, never done this?
Mr. Smith:
Do you eat a lot of mayonaise?
God:
No I do not eat a lot of mayonaise. I eat only electricity.
Mr. Smith:
How does it taste?


I presume it tastes like chicken. Kudos to iGod for God's personality.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Random Note

Fixed up a few things. Commenting is now easier! Hooray! It's just like all the other blogs now. Um...oh, I found it's hard to fix coding problems when talking to three people on google talk. Who would've known?

Remember: talkative chickens want to eat things that are not made of meat. After all, they're carnivorous herbivores.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Know Thyself...

And eat cookies!

Kudos to Sam, as he gave me the idea to have a conversation with someone. This someone, however, is not God. I shall have a conversation...in my mind, with Me, Myself, and the infamous I. Well, not really a conversation, more like a short story. So it's not really a kudos to Sam. Ignore this entire paragraph, in fact.

I walked into a large, dark room, where Me and Myself sat at a very large, round, important looking, marble table. They were sitting in chairs that made them seem very big and prominent figures.
"Have a seat, I," Myself said, his voice boomed by a microphone. "We have business with you."
"You? You's here? I haven't seen You in a while," Me continued to ramble on about he and You were good friends until Myself glared at Me. I proceeded to sit down in a chair, when immediately the chair's arms became large metal objects that grasped I's arms and retained him. Mad cackling erupted from two individuals, Myself and Me.
"Unhand me, demons!" I yelled! "I am not thy enemy!"
"First, stop it with the old English. Second, Me and myself think you are. After all, are you not the one who is different? Me and myself start with M's...while you are a single letter. I. The selfish letter. You are an extremely selfish part of the person we make up. We don't think you are fit for the job anymore."
"Whoa, back up! Are you saying you're going to eradicate me from existance?"
"No, we didn't say that...but that's a really good idea!" Me reached for a remote when I yelled something in a long-forgotten dialect and the lights went out in the already dark room. When at last the lights were returned power, I was missing from the chair.
"You lost him! You fool! Call You! It's going to take more than us to catch I!" Myself stormed out of the room in a fit of rage. Me stayed behind, contemplating how to get in contact with You, as You was a very hard character to contact. She moved around a lot, and when she wasn't moving, she didn't listen. Out of the dark corner of the room, I stood silently. Me began to wander the room, looking for the exit. As Me walked by the dark corner I hid in, I jumped out of the corner behind Me and quickly switched nametags. As they Me, Myself, and I all looked and sounded alike, the only thing that kept them from being mistaken as another was the nametag. I knew this and as he knocked out Me, he yelled for Myself. Myself came running in, yelling incoherent angry things.
"What is it, you useless fool?" he finally asked.
"I've found I. Well, Me has found I. I mean...no, Me mean...you know what I mean! I mean Me mean. No Me mean Me mean. Nevermind! Here's I." I threw Me, who had I's nametag on, at Myself.
"You caught him? Where was he?" Myself inquired, a little hesitant at accepting the fact that the fool Me could catch the genius I.
"I jumped out behind Me...I mean, Me mean, whatever...I jumped from behind the corners and frightened Me. I mean me. Myself. Not you, me. Anyway, I, Me, ducked because Me...I was so scared and he soared over Me and hit the ground, knocking himself unconscious."
"Is that what happened? That was very clever of you, Me!" Myself seemed very pleased with whom he thought was Me's actions.
"Oh, thank you! I mean thank Myself. Me mean...oh, whatever." Myself took who he thought was I, who was actually Me, over the shoulder and ordered some guards to take him to a cell in the dungeon. "You know, Myself, this seems to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
"Oh, don't quote movies right now. I have a headache." With that, Myself walked out of the room. I meandered over to the chair Me was sitting in and sat. He smiled smugly, knowing the others would never find out that he was I.
Myself walked in the room. "Oh, and I, don't forget: next time, get rid of the security camera before you ambush Me."

Thursday, August 03, 2006

The Brave Rescue of Sir Jeff

Here's how it's going to work. I'm outlining some of my biology book for my summer Anatomy assignment. I can't read too much about the circulatory system in one sitting or I'll get nauseous, so I'll save Jeff between sections or when I'm about to faint. If my rescue seems a little disjointed or involves too many references to blood vessels, how the floor and the ceiling have switched places, or being drawn into the light, that's why.

Now, then.

First things first, I have to find the Land of the Dead. To find a guide to take me there, I must kill something, and then follow it. Feeling very badly, I hang around in the yard after the sun goes down. Knowing I am condemning the innocent, I call, "Andrew, Jimmy! There are lightning bugs out here!" At first I think they have not heard, but soon enough there comes the stomping of heavy feet in the garage. Jimmy holds one of Jack's many pet wiffle bats, all named Batty, and Andrew clutches a tennis racket. They grin a little bit to each other, and lope into the yard, Jimmy spouting throaty giggles. I stand on the porch, unable to tear my eyes away from the carnage. Whap! Two fireflies go down with Batty. Whoosh! Andrew swings the racket wildly, hitting only air. Through the sickening "tap... tap-tap," of bugs hitting plastic, I run to one as it plummets into the grass.

After my brothers have had their fun and go back to the basement to play videogames, I continue to wait with the lightning bug. It is late, and most of the other fireflies have found places to rest for the night. The only light comes from the windows behind me. Just as I am about to give up (just because the fireflies have gone to bed, doesn't mean the mosquitoes have!), I notice something strange. The lightning bug is having a conversation with itself.

"...Nerve of those humans! All a body is trying to do is look flashy for the ladies, and they come barging out here with their hard things and it's lights-out! Oh, yes. Now that I'm dead, I'm witty. Where was that when I was trying to get that pretty firefly's attention last night? Not that it matters now, I guess. Well, there's nothing to do now but go off to the Land of the Dead. I hope they have nice grass there."

The insect looks in all directions to make sure that nobody will watch its departure, when it spots me.

"Excuse me, but I'm going to die properly, now. Would you mind leaving? It's sort of a private affair."

"Not at all. Have a nice trip."

I get up to hide behind the porch. The lightning bug seems not to notice. There is a pathetic flash of light, and a noise like a soggy foot pulling out of a soggy boot. The bug is gone, and there is a little bug-shaped hole cut out of the fabric of space where the bug had been. I rush over, and, without thinking, stick my finger into it.

The soggy sound comes again, this time amplified, and I suddenly cease to be. This might have worried me if there was any of me to worry with. My predicament ends, and I fall on cold, dead rock with a sound like a soggy boot and a soggy foot slapping a soggy cow. I know I have come to the right place as I look around me. Some curious ghosts and zombies are peering at me strangely, and some of them take off their heads to see better. Seizing my chance, I ask boldly,

"Do any of you fine fellows know a boy named Jeff? Just got in a week or so ago? He's about yea tall, brown hair, brown eyes, plays a mean "Rhapsody in Blue."

A zombie dragged himself forward.

"I know the guy. Caught him trying to play da boss's piano. He's down at cell block #43."

"Cell block?!"

"Why, sure. Them Warm Fleshes is always a problem. A little time in the box is good fur da unruly 'uns."

"Will you take me to him, please?"

"What, you think I got time to la-la around? I don't have all the time in the world to make little side-trips."

"Um... don't you sorta... y'know, have eternity?"

"Smarty, huh? Okay, fine."

As we walk (actually, I walk. The zombie staggers along in a disturbing manner), I take in the scenery. Dead trees, a dead path, a dead cave... Then I remember Markus' prophecy! If I remember correctly, Jeff has to use his religion to get out of here, in the form of a key! I try to keep down my excitement at my revelation by making small talk with the zombie.

"So, I haven't heard you groan in torment at all. Aren't zombies supposed to do that?"

"No, that's just a stereotype that the living have. 'S annoying, really. Ya go tah murder 'n scare the bejezus outa people in the Land of the Living, and they're all expectin' ya to groan in torment. It's embarrassin'!"

"Sorry I brought it up."

"Well, we're here, anyways."

We are standing in front of a row of cells, all of which look very dead. I turn to thank the zombie cop, but he is already staggering off, talking on his cell phone. A wonder, since it is dead. I hurry along the line of cells, trying not to look at their occupants. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of one, anyway, with exposed bones or a rotting face. I watch the 30s go past, and slow as I see #43 up ahead. Preparing myself for the shock of seeing Jeff dead, I send a whisper ahead of me.

"...Jeff?"

There is no response. I take a deep breath (something I'm sure a lot of people around here would envy me for), and peer inside.

Jeff is sitting in a corner, mouthing something to himself. His hair is a bit more tousled than usual, but he looks otherwise the same. Not wanting to intrude on his soliloquy, I stand by to let him see me first. I can hear little drifts of what he whispers.

"A tousand bucks! A tousand bucks. Rehearsing. Rehoising. hoising."

I cough lightly.

"Maeve! I knew you'd come! Do you have a plan?"

"Why, of course I do! Now, listen here..."

Here we have one of those annoying moments where the two main characters whisper and the audience can't hear what they're saying.

Using my incredible strength and stronger intellect (aka, I find the dog with the keys), I spring Jeff from the cell and we sneak sneakily along the Niagara River, which is dead. A huge, dead fortress sits atop a dead hill nearby, and we make for it. It has a pirate-looking flag flying from the parapets, with a bone symbol on it.

"That's it up there," Jeff points out needlessly, "That's the fortress of the King of the Dead!"

"Hades?"

"No, no. Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III."

We are silent for a time, struggling to keep out of sight on our way to the fortress. There are skeleton guards at the portcullis, so we go around to the back door. Jeff, who can now jump long distances and fly, lifts me over the moat and through the door that leads to the kitchens. Luckily for us, His Majesty Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III is there, chewing his dinner in an annoying manner while shooting the breeze with the chef.

"Whatchoo want, foo's?"

"His Royal Highness Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III, I believe?" I pipe up bravely.

"Owta sight! You 'live!"

"Yes," I say, now self-conscious.

"We came here to challenge you to... a round of bowling!" Jeff looks impressively up at Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III, but the moment is not as heroic as it might be. Jeff has accidentally gotten some of his more-willful-than-usual-because-it's-dead hair in his mouth as he speaks, and has to fish around to get it out.

"Bowlin'?" Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III seems bored.

"Yes! If we win, you have to give Jeff a shiny Jewish key. If you win, I'll teach you to do a Brooklyn accent. Deal?"

"Hell, yeah! I've always wanned ta do dat!"

"Great! We'll meet you at the lanes at dawn." This time nothing spoils Jeff's dramatic moment. There is even a little thunder in the background.

Dawn comes, and Jeff and I have our strategy all worked out. Neither of us will bowl, because we figure we'll get more points that way. We hope Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III isn't much of a bowler. The king arrives, fashionably late, in a fashionable bowling shirt and shiny white shoes. The shoes are so shiny, in fact, that it takes me a while to notice the brilliant key tucked neatly in Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III's afro, Davy Jones-style.

"There it is!" I whisper to Jeff.

"Good work, Scooby."

I wish I had on my Obvious Girl costume to justify my comment.

The King has set up some femurs to serve as pins. The owners of the bones stand idly by, some popping their heads on and off to pass the time. The dawn is cloudy, and I can feel death all around. I think this is some sort of evil omen, and then remember where I am. The 'fro-ed king takes his head off by the frizzy top, and grins at us.

"How cliché," grumbles Jeff. With a glance at me, he removes his head, too.

"I thought we weren't going to bowl!" I hissed urgently.

"We're not. I'm just playing the game."

"But we decided we weren't going to play the game!"

"No... I mean I'm just making it seem like we're going to bowl."

"Oh. 'Kay, then."

His Royal Majesty Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III takes the first turn, since he is the king. Some of the skeletons turn to watch, but most just chew dead bubble gum or run their fingers over their ribcages absently. A clap of thunder accompanies the king's head down the lane, and the sky turns a menacing green. He throws a gutter ball. None of the skeletons seem surprised. As his head comes up the ball return, Jeff puts our plan into action.

"Let me get your head for you, Highness." Jeff bends down and nimbly plucks the key, which is attached to an afro pick, out of Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III's hair. The king does not notice the key's disappearance as he receives the head, and takes his second turn. While he is doing his complex pre-roll dance ritual (I for one can say they don't work so well), Jeff and I bolt away.

Jeff has picked up enough speed to miss the ground and fly by the time Funky Far-out Soul Brotha III notices our disappearance. He sends the skeletons after us, who have a hard time flying without their femurs. It is a little-known fact that the femur is the key bone of flight. Anyyaw, the king is too outraged and headless to follow us himself, so we make off quickly for the cave while the skeletons drop one-by-one from the sky.

It is not dark inside the cave. Jeff holds the key in front of him, looking for nothing in particular. I follow a few paces behind, still within the halo of light cast by the Key of Judaism. At last, when I must have thought of the scene with Tom, Huck, and Becky in the cave with the murderer twenty times, we come upon a little rip in space, just like the one the lightning bug left in my yard at home. In fact, it was lightning bug-shaped. Maybe he didn’t like the dead grass here, I think.

“Put your finger in it, Jeff.”

He looks at me nervously for a second, and then puts the key in his pocket. The cave is dark, as a cave should be, except for the pulsing little rip in space. I take his hand, and we plunge away across the nothingness, and back home.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Life Where Dead People Live

Creeps me out.

It's quite nice here, actually. The flowers bloom, the trees blossom, the fruit grows. Sure, the flowers bloom dead, the trees blossom shrivled up leaves, and the fruit grows rotten, but you get used to it. Once you get passed all the disgusting stuff (like decapitated bodies, chopped up limbs, and skeletons) it is, I repeat, quite nice.

So, as I wait here for someone to rescue me from this hellish nightmare (MAEVE, SEND A RESCUE MISSION!!!!) I went to the great Niagara Falls. It was very pretty, although it was dried up and the ghosts of the idiots who went over in barrels came to attack me. The ghosts were very sweet, if violent. Once I proceeded to tell them the manner of my death (they were mad I was still intact) they gave me a turkey sandwich. The cool thing about being dead is that all the food is the same, since everything you eat is pretty much dead, except for select foods. As for the Falls, it seems that in Dead Land everything is dead, including non-living things. Take this rock, for instance. It was never alive, but it just seems dead right now.

********Random note: scientists can "turn off" the falls, if they choose.********

Now, as pretty as the falls were (dead), the rapids were a sight to see. Huge waves of nothing poured over in an ever-continuing raging river of death! Well, sort of. It was actually kind of empty. In fact, it was more of a trickle of water, if that...

Enough about Niagara Falls, though. The cool place to be is Erie! It's full of...stuff...with nothing to do...except the Govenor's School. That place is cool. But it's dead now. If you go now, you'll just see an empty college falling apart.

So, I found out yesterday that, being dead, I can do near-impossible things. Flying, for instance, is commonplace. Everyone flies when they're dead! Well, that's 'cause half the people are ghosts...but other things, such as jumping extreme distances, is also commonplace! Well, that sort of comes with flying, now, doesn't it? Um...oh, I've got it! You can take off your head! If you're not a ghost, that is. Well, you can take off your head when you're a ghost, but it's not as cool. See, the population is sort of split. There are the ghosts, and then there are the animated dead bodies, or zombies. Wait long enough and they'll become skeletons, but that takes a very long time. There are more skeletons and zombies then ghosts, though, since "you're only a ghost if someone alive is still holding on to you." Quick! Name the show that I took the quote from! I'll give you a clue. It used to be a book. The main character, who is twelve or so, is named Mary. Her parents died. She now lives with her uncle, who is a *********. Right. Any more and it might give it away. Anyyaw, I seem to be a zombie, so I can take off my head. Well, I'm off to wait for that rescue party. Adios!